The Train That Disappeared
Railway employees kept an unwritten code of silence. They didn’t report incidents or confess to anything untoward. Everybody protected each other’s back and hoped somebody’s lips would remain sealed for their mistakes one day. They all desperately needed to keep their poorly paid jobs to feed their families. Engine drivers regularly drove their engines through the points that controlled trains’ right of way on the lines. Their engines then travelled off the rails. Men were called out to set the engines back on their lines. Officers rostered for duty swapped their shifts with others because they were intoxicated. This even happened at Bethania Station. Nobody said anything about these episodes nor claimed any overtime for them.
Sometimes though, something occurred where the circumstances couldn’t be quietly ‘swept up’ because of the ramifications. Then somebody made the problematic decision to escalate the issue to Central Control. Unfortunately, Central Control usually exacerbated the situation. Consequently, the fallout fell on seemingly everybody; even those who were innocent participants.
I liked to quietly eavesdrop on my father’s conversations with other men. These were generally about the Railway and spurious goings-on, so of great interest to me. I listened to numerous discussions about the train that disappeared between Beenleigh and Bethania. Whilst I wouldn’t attest to this tale’s facts, I surmised from the snippets, I overheard, that the following happened.
Just south of Beenleigh, a small branch line connected the Beenleigh Rum Distillery to the main line. Goods trains detoured via the distillery at night to leave behind empty wagons and to collect loaded ones before proceeding to Brisbane with its freight from various sources. One night, the engine driver and the fireman may have enjoyed an extended break at the distillery and also may have sampled its product whilst the night’s consignment was loaded.
Afterwards, the engine driver and the fireman drove the train towards Bethania but stopped it midway on the long bridge at Holmview, the same one I had been caught on. Their manoeuvre isolated the guard at the train’s rear from themselves. With the train parked on the track, the guard couldn’t hop down from his carriage nor walk along the sleepers to the steam engine at the front. Neither was it safe in the darkness for him to hike the few kilometres back to the prior station to obtain assistance. He could do nothing, except perhaps have a snooze in his chilly carriage whilst the others kept warm with the engine’s embers and their booze.
When the train had departed Beenleigh, its station master had notified his counterpart at Bethania by a code ring of two bells on the dedicated telegram line between the stations. This advised the train had departed and could be expected to arrive in the specified time for the distance. Alas, this train didn’t arrive at Bethania on time but much later. Once the engine driver and the fireman had finished the quantum of rum, they had souvenired from the distillery, they refired the steam engine and continued the train’s journey to Bethania.
On its arrival, the Station Master, in consultation with the guard, assessed the engine driver’s and the fireman’s condition, and wouldn’t permit them to proceed with the train. He walked up the road to the first Railway employee’s house, that being ours. Like most people, we didn’t have a telephone. He knocked on our front door to awaken my father. He wanted Dad to take charge of the train and the two miscreants. This meant Dad was to oversee the train’s journey into Brisbane. After assessing the situation, Dad agreed the driver and fireman weren’t in a fit state to operate the engine. However, he disagreed with the plan. He wasn’t fit to drive or fire the engine either. He didn’t have the necessary tickets. This was a serious situation given the gravity of a loaded train being significantly delayed.
To cover their backsides, the Station Master called a doctor from Beenleigh to drive out to examine the men. Time was ticking by. The doctor arrived and checked the men over but failed to make any diagnosis for either of them, never mind one supporting the general observation of their drunkenness. He and the engine driver belonged to one religious flock whereas Dad and the Station Master were of another.
This left the Station Master and the guard with a difficult predicament. If the train didn’t leave, the early morning trains on the Brisbane Beenleigh line couldn’t run through Bethania. Eventually, they found another engine driver and fireman to take control of the train.
Subsequently, an official enquiry was held into the events that transpired. Even though Dad was an innocent bystander to the shenanigans and acted honestly and responsibly in terms of his abilities, he scored a hefty fine. Despite him being an unskilled labourer, the Railway contended he should have taken control of the train and the miscreants to enable it and them to continue the journey to Brisbane unhindered. Without an accurate diagnosis and blood test from the doctor, he didn’t have a defence. Neither could he afford to pay for one. I didn’t hear what consequences the other men suffered though the engine driver continued to drive engines.
I suspected Dad was set up as the scapegoat. Whatever action he chose that night, he was boiled in the stew. Unfortunately, the others didn’t stump up his fine. The Railway docked this from his wages until it was paid. At least, it didn’t dismiss him. Railway men, they foolishly stuck together like glue.
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